


Just Call Me (And I'll Be Right Over)

by foodstuffs



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Hand Jobs, M/M, More like Phone Foreplay, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foodstuffs/pseuds/foodstuffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's got himself into a bit of a situation. What does he do? Phone Patrick, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Call Me (And I'll Be Right Over)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm still writing this kind of thing, I just had a bit of a break over the summer. I'm back now though, with stuffing kink for those of you who actually like this.
> 
> I still don't know how I'm managing to routinely write PWP that ends up over 2000 words, but I guess I'm pretty proud of that.

Patrick, admittedly, was kind of bored. 

He was cooped up in his room, with his old acoustic on his lap and the first book of songs he’d ever bought for it, and he wasn’t even sure why he’d dug them out. They were off-tour, given some time to recuperate and recharge after so many nights crammed into tiny clubs and bars. Patrick was staying for a few weeks back home with his parents before moving into the city to record. It seemed odd to be so lost on a break, all he wanted to do was go and see all the friends he’d been keen to get rid of after almost a month with them in the van. He didn’t have schoolwork anymore, he didn’t have anything to write. He almost lunged to pick up when his phone rang, smiling when he saw that it was Pete.

“Hey Pete,” Patrick answered, “What’s up?”

Pete’s voice came deep and smooth down the line, “Nothing much. How are you?”

“Bored, I guess. You?”

“Same,” Pete sighed, continuing, “I have a stomach ache.”

Now it was Patrick’s turn to sigh. Having been on two tours with Pete now, he had learnt very quickly why adult supervision was an important thing. Every five minutes people were throwing dares and bets around the van or the bus, with Pete and Joe being the most frequent offenders. He thought maybe Pete would have calmed down a little in between their last tour and recording, but he was sure Pete would always find a way past that. Patrick realised that with a house and more friends back home that the parties were probably twice as outrageous as those on the road, and he was suddenly glad that he wasn’t usually invited.

“Why do you have a stomach ache? What stupid dare did you do this time; it wasn’t eating worms again was it?” Patrick inquired.

Pete laughed, “No, no, I just came upstairs after family dinner. I guess I just ate a little too much, that’s all.”

Patrick smiled. He was glad that Pete wasn’t getting into too much trouble, it gave Patrick all kinds of worry when he heard stories on Monday of Pete’s antics from the weekend before.

“I didn’t know you were having a family dinner today, what was it like?” He commented.

“Oh, really nice. It was at ours, so mom and dad were doing the cooking and I helped out some, but it was all so good. Roast chicken, beef, mashed potatoes, all of it.” Pete enthused.

“That does sound nice.” Patrick agreed, it sounded so nice it was making him kind of hungry, “I can see how you went a little overboard.”

Pete hummed in agreement before settling into a comfortable silence for a moment. Patrick knew they weren’t done talking, Pete wouldn’t have called him just for that. It was more than likely that he’d go off on some tangent or another, telling Patrick his favourite anecdotes from the week while Patrick listened quietly. He’d mutter a comment every now and then, just to prove to Pete that he was paying attention, though he knew Pete trusted that he was. He wondered what it would be today- Pete’s new job, perhaps, or the new friends he’d made there. 

“It hurts, Patrick.” Pete moaned, interrupted his best friend’s contemplation, “Listen.”

Patrick didn’t have time to answer, Pete had moved the phone away from his ear and Patrick could hear shuffling and muffled movement, a soft burp from Pete as he maneuvered himself to be able to let Patrick hear. After a moment the shifting, the rustling of the bedsheets, was replaced by a low gurgling and churning. It didn’t sound comfortable, that was for sure.

Patrick tried his best to be comforting, waiting for Pete to move again before saying, “Aw, I can tell. Do you want me to come over?”

“That would be nice.” Pete answered.

Patrick chuckled, “What are friends for but to keep you company when you’re in self-inflicted pain?”

“Shut up.” Pete retorted.

Patrick was busy trying to put his jacket on one-handed, finding his shoes from beneath the bed. He picked up a hat off the pile on his desk and adjusted it over his hair with his phone pressed up against his shoulder. Pete’s answer had been quiet, kind of thick-voiced and muffled. Patrick worried for a second whether or not he was okay. 

“I’m just getting my sneakers on now. What are you doing?” 

“Uh, nothing.” Pete coughed. His voice, Patrick noted, sounded guilty, like he’d been caught red-handed.

“You sounded fuzzy, that’s all.” Patrick explained.

Pete took a deep breath before he answered in a bad attempt at nonchalance, “Oh, I’m kind of eating cheesecake?”

“You’re eating cheesecake.” Patrick sighed, resigned, “You just spent five minutes telling about how much your stomach hurt, because you’d eaten too much, and now you’re eating cheesecake?”

“It was left over from dessert. Mom made apple pie and also bought a cheesecake from the supermarket and clearly none of my family but me are huge cheesecake fans because there’s still over half of it left.” Pete whined.

Patrick scoffed, “Yeah, but you don’t have to eat it!”

Pete clearly took this as offence, because his voice raised a little defencively, “Patrick, right, I don’t think you’re getting my point here. I love cheesecake. If I left it ‘til tomorrow it might have gone off and Patrick, Patrick, you know I can’t abandon a cheesecake.”

“That was a lovely little speech, Pete.” Patrick told him, trying his best to remain unamused.

Pete continued, his voice reverent, “It’s so creamy. It’s also really fucking heavy in my belly, but it’s delicious.”

“You’re a masochist.” Patrick told him bluntly, “I’m on my way over, okay? I’m just going to walk.”

Patrick could almost imagine Pete’s smile as he answered, “I’m glad, Patrick. I’ve missed you, being at home.” 

“You live, like, two streets down from me, Pete.” Patrick reminded him.

Pete brushed off his response, “I don’t care. I’ve missed you after getting back from tour.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Patrick answered, his voice tinged with a confessional sort of honesty.

Of all the things Patrick had considered when he’d thought of how he’d be spending his evening, he hadn’t thought he’d be listening to Pete monologuing about his love of cheesecake. He certainly hadn’t thought he’d enjoy it as much as he was. The air outside was kind of biting, as Patrick had neglected to put on a coat, but he could still hear the ambient sounds of Pete on the other end of the phone. It was kind of disgusting, if he was truthful, but it was better than the shrill whistle of the wind.

“Patrick, how long are you going to be?” Pete asked, “I’ve finished one slice, only five to go.”

“Only like, five minutes.” Patrick reassured.

“Okay, okay.” Pete breathed, “Stay on the line, please?”

“So you can moan at me down the phone the entire way?” Patrick asked incredulously, though now that he phrased it that way it sounded kind of hot, “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay on the line.”

 

“Thank you.” Pete sighed.

Patrick changed the subject as he stepped into the beam of a streetlight, “I’m at the corner now, Pete. Have you started the next slice of cheesecake?”

“Yeah,” Pete mumbled, clearly speaking around a mouthful of food.

“Still good?” Patrick prompted.

Pete moaned, loudly, “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Patrick’s voice was nearly a purr as he urged Pete to continue, “Keep going, then. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s so thick, Patrick, and once it hits my stomach it feels like I’ve swallowed a lump of concrete. Fuck, I’m so full. It’s delicious, though, it’s like fucking ambrosia. The food of the gods, Patrick.”

Pete sounded distant, and he was clearly getting himself into a headspace Patrick hadn’t known Pete to be capable of. Patrick listened for a moment more, passing the suburban houses slowly as Pete kept on talking, as his eloquent phrases devolved into words and then into sounds. Patrick didn’t want to drag him out of it, didn’t want to force back into an uncomfortable awareness but if he didn’t then he’d never get in without having to climb up to Pete’s window. Which, when he thought about it, Patrick wasn’t even sure was possible.

He interrupted quietly, “I’m nearly there, Pete, you wanna come down and let me in?”

Pete groaned in discomfort and answered,“Uh, yeah. Just, give me a sec, and I’ll be there.”

Pete was leaning against the doorframe as he watched Patrick walk up the driveway. He was dishevelled, something Patrick had seen before but in a vastly different way to this, and he liked this version a lot more. He had one arm braced against the doorframe and the other curled around his belly. Which was, fuck, it was bigger than Patrick expected. Pete looked like he’d eaten a whole buffet, not just a bit too much at family dinner. Patrick stepped past him and into the hallway, pulling on Pete’s shoulder gently to get him to step away from the door.

Pete whined at the movement. Patrick shut the door behind them and looked Pete over once again. His shirt, the only passably smart shirt that Pete currently owned, was half-unbuttoned and doing a poor job at covering his stomach, riding up again just a few seconds after he’d tugged it down. Now that he had both arms free, his hands were clutching at the tight skin of belly and Patrick could hear from where he was standing the protesting churning that followed every movement. 

“Hey, come on, Pete, I’m here.” Patrick comforted, “Let’s go upstairs, yeah, and you can lay down.”

Pete nodded, grimacing as Patrick wrapped an arm around his waist to lead him up the stairs, “Okay.”

Once they were both safely tucked away in Pete’s bedroom with the door tight shut in case his parents happened to return, Patrick’s next mission was getting Pete comfortable. He unfastened the remaining few buttons on Pete’s shirt and removed his jacket as Pete sat himself down on the mattress. Patrick looked over to see the silver plate that was home to the cheesecake, or what was left of it. Pete was already picking it up and eyeing the slices when Patrick moved over to sit beside him.

“I’ve got like, three more slices now. Nearly done.” Pete murmured.

Patrick rubbed Pete’s shoulder comfortingly, “Are you sure you want to go on?” 

Pete moaned again, soft and so, so hot, “Patrick, I need to finish it.”

“Alright, if you insist.” Patrick conceded, “Fuck, you weren’t lying when you said you’d overdone it.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t lying when I said it hurt either.” Pete complained, but there was no frustration behind it.

“Let me help out with that.” Patrick offered. If Pete wasn’t mistaken, his voice dropped noticeably. 

“Please.” Pete begged, “It hurts so bad.”

“I know. Trust me.” Patrick reassured, reaching down to press his hands against Pete’s belly, “I’m gonna make you feel better, okay?”

“Okay.” Pete agreed, “Three slices to go.”

“Two and half, actually. You’re doing well, Pete.” Patrick encouraged.

Pete simply moaned in response, his head tipped back for a moment before he reached down for the rest of the slice. He ate it in only three bites, large mouthfuls that he hurried down before he started work on the second last piece. Patrick’s hands were rubbing circles and spirals into the tight skin of his belly, pressing firmly against the ache in an effort to drive it away. This close, Patrick could really hear the protesting gurgles of Pete’s stomach to every new mouthful and how every shift and movement caused another groan to fall from Pete’s mouth. Patrick traced his fingers down the curves of Pete’s sides, across his belly and then down to squeeze his hips. This was definitely more fun in person than it was over the phone. When Patrick looked up, noticing Pete’s pause and how Pete’s hands were joining Patrick’s rather than eating, he saw that there was only one creamy segment left on the platter.

“You’re down to one slice, you’re so close, Pete.” Patrick told him, keeping his voice low as he congratulated Pete by finally reaching below his waistline.

“Yeah, close.” Pete whimpered, “I’m so full.”

Patrick pressed kisses down the line of Pete’s hipbone, focusing one hand on soothing his stomachache while the other curled around Pete’s dick. He was being slow, and light, more teasing at first than an active handjob, but Pete trusted that he was working up to it. Pete hesitated before picking up the next, the last, slice. Patrick’s attentions were a little distracting as he felt sparks of heat begin to dance through his body. 

Patrick, listening to Pete’s complaints with as much patience as he could muster, stared up at Pete with a challenging expression, “C’mon, let’s strike a deal. If you stop eating, I stop ‘helping.’” 

“Fuck you.” Pete muttered, his back arching as Patrick twisted his grip, “Okay, I’ll keep going.”

“You’re nearly there,” Patrick encouraged, “You’ve done so well.”

“Thank you.” Pete muttered in reply, though he wasn’t really paying attention. His focus was on the last couple of bites, stodgy and sweet in his mouth and heavy when they landed in his belly. He was so happy, happy to be finished and happy with how Patrick’s eyes met his in dark satisfaction. Pete was murmuring under his breath, moans and soft sounds that Patrick wanted to listen to forever- he’d never have guessed how much Pete let himself become undone. 

Patrick’s words joined Pete’s, a proud commentary on his achievements, “So good, Pete, look at you. You’ve eaten so much today.” “Just relax, you’ve finished it now. Just focus on me.”

“Patrick,” Pete choked out, practically writhing before he remembered the discomfort it would bring, “I’m so close, Patrick.”

Patrick smiled, “Just let go, I’ve got you. I’m here, Pete.”

Pete came with a soft, choked gasp which Patrick could feel as he stretched up to mouth at Pete’s neck. It was far more understated than Patrick had expected, far less exaggerated and more raw and honest. He hoped he could get Pete to make that every time this happened, every time Pete fell back into that headspace and let Patrick take care of him. Patrick kept massaging and kissing him as he came down, as Pete’s clarity returned for a few moments before he started drifting off into sleep. Pete smiled, and kissed Patrick’s forehead before Patrick moved away to stand up.

Patrick decided, as uncomfortably hard as he was, he could wait until the morning when pete felt a little better. He’d not bought pyjamas with him, but Pete’s bottom drawer had a pair of sweatpants he was partial to stealing whenever he crashed at the Wentz’ place, so he wandered over to fetch them after he’d gotten a warm washcloth to help Pete clean up. God, he was a mess; cheesecake and crumbs smeared across his hands from when he’d given up on silverware. Though he was half-asleep, compliant enough to let Patrick clean up and climb in beside him without any hassle, he still looked uncomfortable. It was worth it, Patrick thought, to keep rubbing Pete’s belly until he fell asleep.


End file.
